As Marcus approached the gathered ranks of soldiers, a few finally reacted to his presence. A group broke off to meet him, one calling out in a loud voice. "Halt! State your purpose."
Marcus sagged in relief. He'd been fairly sure that they spoke the same language based on the few shouted commands he'd heard, but this confirmed it. The fact that they hadn't attacked him on sight was a huge plus, as well. That would make things so much easier. Maybe his [Silver Tongue] could actually be of use.
Marcus swept into a courtly bow, his cloak flourishing around him. "Greetings. My name is Marcus Silvanus D'Angelo, and I have come to speak with your leader."
"For what purpose?" The man didn't budge. He spoke in a harsh and unfamiliar accent, but it wasn't without a certain politeness. It reminded him of how people up north talked, but a little less guttural and more clipped. Marcus felt that the man was honestly asking for his intent, and he would maybe pass it along if it was interesting enough.
Leaping at the opportunity, he launched into the spiel he'd prepared on the way over. "I come to offer my knowledge and wisdom. As a traveler of many lands, I am well acquainted with this area and the world as a whole. As such, I wish to extend an offer of aid to you, who I expect may have found yourselves in quite the unfamiliar place. And…" he paused for a moment, considering whether to add the final bit. "...I must admit some curiosity as to your intentions for this fine town."
The soldier fixed him with a hard stare, then grumbled. He glanced toward one of his compatriots and the man went running. Hopefully, it was to find someone higher up the chain. The man returned his gaze to Marcus. "You will wait here."
"Of course, of course," Marcus agreed easily. Finally, a chance to take a break. He straightened, maintaining a fittingly regal stance while still appearing open and approachable. It seemed that they would be waiting a little while, so perhaps he could work on making some inroads in the meantime. "Might I ask for your name, good sir?"
His question was met with a stony silence. The soldier didn't even acknowledge he had spoken. Inwardly, he grimaced. It seemed that making conversation would be a little more difficult than he'd expected.
After a few more tries at striking up conversation, he decided to abandon the idea. The utter lack of the man's responses further cemented that he had no command over these summoned beings. Clearly, them not listening to him was a choice. No, he simply had to hope that talking to their leader would shed some more light on the situation. If he couldn't command him… then perhaps he'd need to change tactics and make himself an asset instead.
So rather than continue to talk to a brick wall, Marcus waited patiently and continued to craft his words. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to observe the Legion's men. A large number of them remained outside the city, standing in neat ranks and groups. Between the armored figures, Marcus spotted the kneeling forms of more men in the town's guard uniforms. They'd been disarmed and gathered together to be watched over by the Legion soldiers, but didn't seem to be injured or in immediate danger. That was a good sign, at least.
As he watched messengers running about from inside the city to without, he began to notice a strange sort of sensation. It was a faint thing, small enough to be unnoticeable unless he focused on it. But there was a definite link there, stretching from himself to each Legion soldier as he focused on them. It felt somewhat similar to his [Critical Reception] skill when it was active. That one allowed him to evaluate the engagement of all who watched his performances. But he hadn't activated the skill. This was a passive feeling, and it didn't communicate the same kind of information.
He was still grappling with that realization when the messenger soldier returned. He saluted the stony-faced man with whom Marcus had been speaking before turning to Marcus himself. "The Legatus will see you. Come with me."
Before Marcus could respond, the man turned on his heel and marched back towards the gate. With as much confidence as he could muster, Marcus passed into the ranks of soldiers and stepped towards the entrance of Habersville once again. Two more soldiers silently fell into step around him. He chose to think of them as an honor guard rather than an escort for a captive.
As they headed through the gates, he carefully peered around, inspecting the surroundings and faces of the townsfolk. At least, the few he could actually see. Most of them were peeking out through windows, watching the strange soldiers as they went about their tasks on the streets. Everyone that he saw looked worried, but unharmed. He didn't see piles of corpses or horrific carnage like he had initially feared. Every once in a while, he spotted men kneeling and under watch with their hands bound behind them. But that was all. They weren't being beaten or tortured or anything so heinous.
The realization made Marcus breathe a sigh of relief. When he had first seen the wave of soldiers pouring into the town, he truly had feared for the pretty much defenseless, low-level civilians. But as they walked farther into the city, the more calm Marcus became. It really seemed like an almost bloodless takeover. Soldiers were patrolling the streets and keeping the peace, but not outright threatening anyone. Even the stray dogs had been herded into areas rather than being killed.
Of course, whether or not such peace would last was another matter. One he had to see to himself.
The city hall came into view, its two stories towering over the comparatively small buildings around it. Before it spread a greenish lawn with a rough-hewn monolith of dark stone protruding from its center. Its surface gleamed in the morning sunlight, hues of blue and gold seeming to shimmer just beneath its surface. A class stone, albeit a relatively unimpressive one.
Yet rather than the usual people milling about, Marcus saw a sea of soldiers. The square had been turned into a command post. Several makeshift tables and tents had been set up amidst an even higher concentration of Legion soldiers. Amidst the action, Marcus took note of two figures in particular.
The first was a very overweight man with jiggly jowls and a belly the size of a barrel. His clothes were ostentatious, their rich colors clashing in eye-watering combinations, and revealed an incredible lack of taste from their wearer. Their primary design aim had clearly been to flaunt wealth rather than look good, an effect that was considerably lessened by how poorly tailored the garments were. That, and the dark splotches of sweat currently soaking through them as the man trembled. Marcus recognized him as the mayor of Habersville.
The second figure, however, was the polar opposite. He was another one of the summoned soldiers, identifiable at a glance by the large plume atop his helm. A strong jaw, close-cropped black stubble, and muscled physique made him look like some sort of legendary warrior, an impression backed up by criss-crossing scars across his body. Even more than that, though, he wore an aura of confidence like a second skin.
The man looked imposing even at a distance. Amid the bustle of activity, he appeared firmly in control like a solid piece of stone battered by waves. Even Marcus began to feel more and more intimidated as he walked closer.
He shook himself. He was no small-time bard. He had performed for kings. There was no reason to be this nervous about some barbarian warrior. Still, between the man's bearing and the comparatively fine ornamentation of his armor, Marcus could only assume that this was the leader of the Legion— the "Legatus" his escort had mentioned. Hopefully, at least. As if to confirm the thought, a strong pull from his new sense tugged him in that direction.
At their approach, the Legatus looked up and met Marcus's eyes briefly before returning back to issuing orders. Marcus remarked inwardly that his severe features seemed at odds with the rather silly feathers and decorations protruding from his helmet. Regardless, the sheer amount of muscle and angular planes would have made it impossible to laugh at him, no matter how he was dressed.
Marcus's escort approached the man, the lead soldier saluting with a fist to his chest. "Legatus Tiberius,"
The extravagantly plumed Legatus turned his attention to them and nodded. The soldier indicated Marcus with his eyes. "This man claims to have information for you."
Another brief nod from the Legatus dismissed the messenger, allowing the entirety of the man's attention to fall onto Marcus. Hard eyes bored into him. Between that and the two guards that remained at his sides, the situation didn't exactly feel in his favor. Still, he relaxed his muscles and adopted as casual of a posture as he dared. It was best to appear confident and in control. Though perhaps he would tread a little more carefully when trying to give the man an order.
Marcus felt the eyes of every soldier on his back as they passed. With practiced ease, he plastered an open and friendly smile onto his face to meet the Legatus's stony expression. The stage was set. Best case scenario, he'd be able to direct the man. If not… well, he'd ingratiated himself to plenty of people before. He just needed to find out how to be of use.
***
When Tiberius heard that a local had information for him, he was curious. The fact that the local had introduced himself from outside of the city and done so with proper respect and deference to the men was even better. It had made him actually want to hear the man out.
From his limited experience in this strange place, most of these people were clueless yokels who didn't know a thing about running a proper city or managing an economy. The so-called guards were criminally lax, the mayor was a blubbering mess, and even the townsfolk themselves seemed to have no concept of proper sanitary practices. Any kind of competence would be more than welcomed at this point.
But as he watched the soldier escort the man in question closer, Tiberius quickly regretted his decision.
It was immediately apparent that the man was a spineless fop. Between the extravagant clothes and his soft appearance, he might as well have been from a wealthy family in the city of Rome, one of those coddled boys who no longer remembered what it meant to be a citizen. The way he moved was more like a dancer than a fighter, his figure suggesting he'd never seen combat. Worse, the supercilious smile he wore on his face called to mind the image of a career politician.
The smarmy newcomer bowed low after the soldier was dismissed. "Greetings, Legatus Tiberius. My name is Marcus Silvanus D'Angelo, traveling bard and minstrel. I've been to many lands, near and far, and filled my cup with sights and stories across them all. If you seek to partake of the knowledge of this world, then you'll find no better mentor and guide to quench your thirst."
He finished the speech with a flourish, tapping his nose with an infuriatingly knowing smile. Tiberius let the man stew in silence for a second. Unfortunately, it seemed that bards in this place followed the practices of minstrels and poets he knew—specifically, that of using an impressive number of flowery words to convey shockingly little information.
"And?" Tiberius eventually prompted. This Marcus clearly had an angle, but Tiberius was in no mood to play games. Either he would state his intentions clearly or Tiberius would return to the matters at hand. He had plenty of things to do without wasting time here.
At the prompting, Marcus began blabbering again. "I would like to express my humble appreciation for the leniency you've shown the villagers. Your mercy has not gone unmarked, truly. I am certain that such actions will cause them to see you in a kinder light, as gallant protectors and noble warriors as opposed to cruel conquerors. Of course, your might has left even myself in awe, but…"
The man continued to babble on about might and mercy and such things for quite a while. Tiberius found it rather unusual that the villagers were the first matter to be raised by this man. Normally, people like him didn't care about anyone else, instead choosing to angle for power and position at every opportunity. But then again, maybe he was.
Tiberius allowed himself a ghost of a smile. He didn't intend any harm to the village, but it wouldn't hurt to play along with the man's delusions. Perhaps it would get him more information. Still, it was best to test the waters a little bit. Keeping the man off balance would be a bonus.
"Bard—"
"Call me Marcus," the man insisted, the smile still plastered on his face.
"...Bard," Tiberius repeated, ignoring the comment. He thought he saw a twitch of surprise at the response. "Why should I be lenient? Why should my men spend their time and energy watching over people who could stab them in the back? What use is it to protect people such as these, much less their incompetent leaders?"
He heard the blubbery man at his side let out a high-pitched squeal of panic. It made Tiberius's features harden once more. With a leader like this, it was no wonder the town was in such a state. The bard, on the other hand, didn't so much as flinch. His suspiciously genial smile never faltered, even for a moment. It was enough self-control to make Tiberius think he'd imagined the flash of uncertainty earlier.
"Ah, it seems that I may prove my worth by being of use already. Let me explain. This wonderful town holds great strategic value due to not only its location, but its trade." Marcus swept an arm out wide—slowly, Tiberius noted—to indicate the unremarkable buildings. "As a frontier logging town, they serve as a great exporter of lumber and a key component in construction across the kingdom. All that is built begins here, with the labors of Habersville and its people. People who, as you might expect, are quite experienced in their craft."
Tiberius frowned. It explained the predominantly wooden constructions he'd seen around town. If trees were their main export, perhaps he could understand why the people used them as opposed to stone or cement. Still, the choice had a number of drawbacks, and the quality of the buildings themselves had left quite a lot to be desired, especially for so-called "experts." His estimation of the people dropped another few notches.
The bard had continued speaking as he thought, waxing poetic about the relatively menial job of cutting down trees. "...The skills and hard-earned generational knowledge of these people would be difficult to replace, as you may expect. And such resources can be of great use, as I'm sure a man like you may know..."
The Legatus summarized the speech internally. This was a small town that produced lumber. That was practically all their people did. Considering its size, there had to be many more such settlements to build anything of use. Otherwise, the "kingdom" that it belonged to would have to be laughably small.
It would make a decent base of operations.
He cut Marcus off mid-sentence. "Tell me about the surrounding area. Geography, factions, defenses."
"Well," Marcus began, his eyes lighting up at the question. "As I mentioned, this is the humble town of Habersville, situated among the towering pines of the Evergreen Seas. That is the name for the forest around us. It's origin—"
"What about the kingdom you mentioned?" Tiberius interrupted again, prompting the man to move on. Despite being cut off, the bard made no indication of being offended.
They continued on like that for a while, Tiberius fishing for practical information as Marcus attempted to inject as much flowery prose as possible into every sentence. At some point, a few of Tiberius's men returned from the town hall with maps and other relevant documents. They were of rather poor quality and limited in scope, but he'd dealt with worse. His aides took down notes the entire time, dutifully recording everything of use that the bard spouted. They would double check everything later. But for now, any information was valuable.
It didn't take long to realize that they were far from home. The geography the man detailed was unlike any Tiberius had seen or heard of on any map. Worst of all, from the sound of things, there was nothing even close to Rome in the charted world. Wherever they were, it was even more remote than the distant lands of China.
Even without a map, it was a fairly obvious conclusion. These people were so technologically behind that the town didn't even have aqueducts. Given what he'd seen, they may have never even heard of a sewer system. Tiberius couldn't let that stand.
Once he had a decent grasp on the situation, Tiberius cut Marcus off with a raised hand. "That is enough. We will need to verify this information. In the meantime…" He raised his voice to speak to the entire square, not just Marcus.
"I have decided this land is in desperate need of civilization. Its current stewards have utterly failed to provide proper training, equipment, support, protection, and logistics, not to mention infrastructure." Tiberius glanced around in disgust at the disgracefully underdeveloped town. "As the Emperor has no connection to this land, I, Senator Tiberius Rufius Maro, shall take a position as acting emperor in the name of Caesar Tyrannus Idrieus Augustus until such connection can be formed."
At the proclamation, every nearby Legionnaire stood at attention. As one, they clasped their hands to their chests in salute. A deafening cry of "Long live the Emperor!" echoed through the town square. With a nod from Tiberius, they continued going about their business.
Ignoring the confusion on the faces of the mayor and bard, he turned to one of his aides. "Let it be known. Assemble the men. We have work to do."
Just as he turned back to continue his own work, however, he found himself faced with an odd sight. Motes of golden light coalesced into the air before him, forming words that hovered in his vision.
[You have successfully seized the town of Habersville! You have gained experience. See a Class Stone for territory management options.]
[You have successfully declared war on the Novara Kingdom!]